


tell me it's real

by kaiba



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Back Together, Jealousy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Break Up, breaking up, literally just a metric fuck ton of angst i'm sorry, set after university probably, sex in later chapters so rating will go up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiba/pseuds/kaiba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terushima knows him from foggy memories of sneakers squeaking on gym floors and air salonpas and an obnoxiously catchy school chant, but that's about all he can remember after the accident. Futakuchi Kenji is a stranger to him in more ways than one, and it's a confusing feeling watching him walk away. There's no surge of emotion that comes rushing to the surface, and he doesn't run after him to repair the damage that's been done. But long after he's gone, Terushima struggles to shake off the feeling that he's lost something important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's been 84 years and i am still in love w terufuta honestly. two headcanon posts and a group chat dedicated to them later and i'm finally getting around to writing fic for my fav rarepair............ basically me writing this started as revenge against arim & cattsun for posting all these heartbreaking angsty ideas into our chat and somehow spiralled into a whole fic like @me wtf

There’s always been something about hospitals that sets Futakuchi on edge.

He's never been exactly sure why, but the polished floors, too bright lights and unrelenting scent of disinfectant always make him anxious. Perched on the edge of a cold plastic seat in a waiting bay on the fourth floor, that fear is no different tonight. He's rocked with a tremor that he just can't seem to shake, one that bursts to life in the constant bounce of his leg and the trembling in his fingers. Waves of nurses, doctors and porters sweep past in the hallways, but Futakuchi can't focus on any of them. Their faces, chatter and footsteps faded into a muted hum of background noise. 

Across the bay, Bobata and Numajiri are always waiting. They're sat as close to each other as the rigid plastic chairs will allow, with their hands laced tightly together like it's the only lifeline they've got left. The sight leaves a bitter lump in Futakuchi's throat that won't go away no matter how much he swallows. Their presence does little to settle his nerves, nor to untangle the panic that coils like a viper under his ribs. They both keep shooting him looks filled with concern, looks he's been doing his best to ignore. If he lets that worry touch him, he knows he'll break, and he can't afford to do that right now. 

Night has settled in comfortably, the golden wash of dusk haven given way to the glow of city lights through the window at the end of the hall hours ago. Futakuchi refuses to let his strength fail him now, no matter how much time has passed or how exhausted he feels. He's managed to keep himself together so far, and has done ever since he'd gotten the call that Terushima had been rushed to Sendai City Hospital earlier that afternoon. With Terushima’s parents not able to fly back from their trip abroad until the next morning at the earliest, Futakuchi knows he cannot afford to waver.

"Hey...You know how stubborn he is. He's going to be..." Bobata begins quietly from across the waiting bay. There's a hesitation to his words, as if he's not sure whether he's helping Futakuchi by speaking, as if he doubts his own conviction. "It'll all be alright soon." 

Futakuchi can't help but doubt the words too. Bobata doesn't say anything else, and quietly, Futakuchi is glad. They've had no recent update on Terushima's condition—not since he went into surgery—and at this point, Bobata's words feel like nothing more than empty promises. 

It's little over half an hour later that one of the resident doctors arrives, with a chart binder tucked under one arm. She's young, and there's a smattering of freckles dusted over her nose and cheekbones. Futakuchi is on his feet before she even has the chance to open her mouth, and Numajiri and Bobata are quick to follow.

"Good evening, my name is Sasori. I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting so long for news," she says, sounding entirely genuine in her apology. "Firstly, I want to reassure you that Terushima-san is currently stable. We're in the process of transferring him to a post-op ward now and I'll be taking over his case until he's ready to be discharged." 

Relief crashes over Futakuchi, so quickly it's almost sickening. 

"It's still very early days in his recovery, but I can say that the prognosis is looking very positive so far," Sasori continues once she's given them all a moment to process the news. She's opened the chart binder previously tucked under her arm and is scanning over the notes inside. "As I'm sure you're aware, surgery was required to address the shoulder dislocation and fracturing, and several lacerations required stitches, but with time, there's nothing that should cause lasting damage provided he completes a full physical therapy programme after discharge."

Bobata lets out a laugh that's almost giddy, and the panic almost visibly slips off of Numajiri's shoulders. Sasori's words don't entirely dissipate the tension that twists uncomfortably under Futakuchi's skin, but the small smiled tucked into the corners of her lips is enough to take the edge off.

"Of course, we'll need to run some more tests tomorrow. Until then, we won't know the full extent of his injuries or any neurological damage," she adds, "but I'm confident that we'll be able to discharge him as soon as possible to recover at home. He was a very lucky young man." 

"When can we see him?" Futakuch asks, barely seconds after Sasori has finished speaking. He's grateful his voice doesn't shake, but the desperation in it is obvious. "His parents are arriving first thing in the morning, and his brother is arranging to come over from Kyoto, but if he's on a ward now, then I'd like to see him."

"Not until tomorrow, I'm afraid," she answers. The smile she gives Futakuchi is soft, even though her words sting. There's something reassuring about her, a steady and maternal aura that gives Futakuchi the impression she dedicates herself fully to every single patient. "We'll be running those additional tests before visiting hours, however, so hopefully I'll have some more news to share with you about his recovery then. In the meantime, I'd suggest going home and trying to get some sleep. I know it won't be easy, but you'll be better help if you're well rested. I'm sure Terushima-san would also appreciate a few home comforts to make his stay here more enjoyable too. He'll be here until at least early next week." 

Futakuchi's shoulders sag. It's not the answer he was hoping for, but there's little he can do but wait. Sasori is right, too. Terushima will only kick up a fuss if he doesn't have his toothbrush or his PSP with him here. 

Sasori bids them all a good-night, promising to see them tomorrow with an update. Once she's gone, no doubt to check up on more patients until her shift ends, Numajiri offers to give Futakuchi a ride home. He accepts the offer, feeling for the first time in hours like he can breathe again.

 

*****

 

When Futakuchi returns to the hospital the next day, it's later than he'd hoped.

He'd been waiting to hear from Terushima's parents—Kamiko and Tsuyoshi—since he'd offered to meet them at the station when he'd called them last night. Instead, Ryota—Terushima's older brother—had said he'd collect them, meaning Futakuchi's entire morning hanging around in the apartment had been for nothing. He'd left almost immediately after Ryota had called to tell him the news, but by the time he'd headed across Sendai, visiting hours were already in full swing. 

The directions to the ward that Bobata had text him are easily enough to follow, even with how unfocused he feels in his desperation to finally see Terushima in person, and it doesn't take him long to find the right floor and room. He hears Terushima before he properly sees him, a flash of blonde hair and hospital gown in the corner of the ward where he's loudly complaining to Bobata about the cast and shoulder brace he has to wear.

"It's just so fucking _itchy_ , Kazu! Do you think if I tried to scratch it with a chopstick the doctors would be mad?" 

"Probably," Bobata snorts. When he spots Futakuchi approaching them across the ward, he grins widely. "But even if they weren't, I know someone who'd have no trouble telling you off for it." 

" _Hah_ —? Who?" Terushima's eyebrows pinch together in a frown as he turns to follow Bobata's line of sight.

It's not until Futakuchi gets really close that he notices just how bad Terushima looks. The shoulder brace to help keep his shoulder set back in place and the wrist cast are only the beginning, only just visible under the hospital gown. He's littered with deep cuts and gashes stitched shut, covered in deep bruises that blossom like supernovas across his tan skin. Some of them look so dark, Futakuchi wonders how they could ever fade away. His bottom lip is split and swollen, and most of his right cheek is covered in gauze. Futakuchi doesn't want to imagine how bad the rest of his injuries might be, the ones they can't see under the hospital gown.

“Oh, I recognise you! Date Tech, right? I always wanted to try breaking some of your team’s blocks, but I guess we never got to meet on the court,” Terushima says brightly, but quickly turns back to shoot Bobata a confused look. The frown from earlier still hasn’t vanished, as if he’s trying to piece together a particularly difficult mental maths equation. “Why would he be telling me off for scratching under my cast though?”

Bobata eyes Futakuchi warily, but the latter isn't anymore certain of what just happened. They'd all assumed that Terushima might be a little confused after waking up—he was hit by a car at speed, after all—but this isn't the kind of reaction they'd expected. 

"Your jokes always were terrible, Yuuji, but come on, quit messing around," Futakuchi manages to bite out, "I'm your boyfriend, of course I'm going to nag when you're doing stupid stuff like that."

Terushima’s reaction throws him again. He lets out a loud laugh, looking between both Futakuchi and Bobata as if he expects one of them to suddenly start laughing with him. When both of them fail to even smile, he huffs.

“Come on, if anyone is joking here, it’s both of you,” he says, leaning back into the pillows fluffed up behind him. “Like, sure! Very funny, you almost got me! But no offence, I’m not that stupid. You’re hot, I’d definitely remember if I was dating someone like you.”

The silence that settles around them all is heavy and thick.

Terushima has never been able to lie very well, he has too many tells, but there’s no sign of any of them in the mildly affronted expression he wears.

Bobata uncurls himself from the chair beside Terushima’s bed with a strained, but urgent, promise to fetch a doctor. Futakuchi feels as if the floor has just fallen out from beneath him, and can only hope Sasori has some answers for them when she returns. 

The panic from the waiting room is creeping back, coiling tighter and tighter until it feels as if he can’t even swallow around the weight in his lungs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw u should be writing for other things but end up indulging ur angst fic again......... i must have read thru this a million times, but i'm on some pretty strong meds for a neck/shoulder strain so any inconsistencies pls hmu

“Retrograde amnesia isn’t uncommon following an accident that caused a head injury like yours,” Sasori explains from the foot of the bed. Her dark hair has been pulled back into a simple but sleek ponytail. She looks every inch the professional, but it doesn’t make her words any easier to swallow.

_Seriously? Amnesia?_  Terushima thinks testily, _isn’t that the kind of thing that only happens in movies?_

“There is no outright treatment for it, I'm afraid, but we’re fortunate that your case doesn’t appear to be as severe as it could have been. From the recent evaluations, it appears that it's only the last year or two of your short-term memory that's been affected,” Sasori continues. She spends brief moment reassessing the updated notes in Terushima’s chart. “I understand this must be extremely confusing and upsetting for you, but I have no doubt that you’ll be able to cope just fine when you’re discharged. It may take some time for you to properly readjust to everything, so I would like to assign an occupational therapist to help you with that in addition to the physical therapy programme. Would you be open to speaking with someone, Terushima-san?”

The silence that follows Sasori's question is stifling, and none of the group gathered around his bed attempt to speak. Even the ambient noise of staff and patients just outside of the ward isn’t enough to ease the tension. Terushima isn’t sure what answer he’s supposed to give. This morning has been such a whirlwind of tests and scans and so many _questions_ that he’s considered making a run for it twice already. It had been endlessly frustrating having to grasp at answers to questions he was apparently supposed to know, and the irritation from earlier still hasn't faded. He doesn't want to face more hard questions now, not when it feels like there’s still so much pressure to make the _right_ choice.

His parents are watching him from their seats beside his bed, their eyes heavy with expectation. They’d arrived earlier, along with his brother, and have been here ever since. His mother’s hands are clasped tightly together in her lap, and his father’s jaw is tense underneath the faint stubble. Ryota is frowning from where he stands behind them, arms crossed over his broad chest and looking as if he can’t understand why his brother hasn’t leapt at the chance for help yet. It’s clear that they all think that taking the doctor up on her offer for therapy is the clear cut, obvious answer.

Terushima glances towards Futakuchi, who seems to be purposely keeping his distance. He’s settled himself right at the foot of the bed beside Dr. Sasori, and won’t meet Terushima’s eyes. The longer that Terushima looks, the more apparent the sadness in Futakuchi’s features becomes. There are shadows under his eyes from where he hasn’t slept, a defeat in the way he holds himself, grief laced in the tightness of his lips. It seems obvious that he’s trying to remain unaffected by what’s happening, detaching himself from the situation. Terushima isn’t sure if the ease with which he can read his expression is because he’s better at reading people than he remembers, or because Futakuchi is simply an awful liar. It simply doesn’t occur to him that Futakuchi is so easy to read is because he’s loved him for years; that where his mind has forgotten, an _imprint_ remains. 

Terushima wonders if he’s supposed to take Futakuchi into consideration as he moves forward with his recovery. If what everyone has said is true, they’ve been in a relationship for over a year and a half. He knows that if that’s the truth, he’s supposed to feel _something_ when he looks at him. All that really comes to the surface is a shallow, visual attraction. With all of his long lines and supple limbs, Futakuchi is undeniably gorgeous; but Terushima doesn’t feel like he's in love with him.

“Uh... sure,” he finally replies, even though he's still not sure it's necessary.

His mother exhales loudly in relief. From the corner of his eye, Terushima can see the tension visibly melt from the hard slope of his father’s broad shoulders. He's pleased that some of their worry seems to be fading, even if he doesn't quite understand their distress. He still hurts—his ribs still ache whenever he breathes and his shoulder feels stiff enough that he can't move it even despite the painkillers—but in his mind he feels like himself. There are names and events and faces that elude him when they’re mentioned, and apparently a whole relationship he doesn’t remember, but he doesn’t feel _broken_ , even if everyone he’s encountered in the past couple of days keeps looking at him like that’s exactly what he is. Futakuchi's expression doesn't falter, and he doesn't seem any less distraught than before. For reasons he can't quite grasp, that bothers Terushima.

“Of course, they’ll be able to explain more about how you might be able to gain some of your lost memories back, as well as some exercises to try and daily coping methods,” Sasori says. She breezes past the stilted moment as if it had never even happened, and Terushima does his best to force his full attention on her. It’s easier to focus on her than the doubts that nag at the back of his mind or the feelings he’s supposed to have for a man he only half remembers.

She reattaches the chart binder to the end of his bed after signing off on it. Her smile is small, but it's genuine and warm, as if she wants nothing more in the world than to see him recover. “I’ll make the arrangements as soon as I can, then. They’ll also be able to provide medical evidence and sign you off on temporary leave for your workplace should you need to take time off to recover. Of course, I should warn you that even with their guidance, there’s still a high chance you may never be able to recover the areas of memory that were lost.”

Terushima barely registers the words over the Futakuchi's quiet gasp and the sound of his footsteps fading as he flees from the ward. 


End file.
